


With Sharp Grins

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AU, Animal Death, Blood, Historical, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, POV Alternating, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, Vampire!Crowley, Werewolves are immortal too because I said so, werewolf!Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-11 16:11:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19542703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: For as long as humans have walked the Earth, vampires and werewolves have been locked in a war for territory. Crowley knows that, everyone learns that when they enter this world. But save a wolf from a bear trap, and all of a sudden, you start seeing him everywhere. This is an account of their encounters, coincidental or otherwise.





	1. 1605

Crowley always preferred the scenic route. When heading to the graveyard on the outskirts of Warwick, the quickest route was the beaten dirt path leading south. Of course, people often traveled by horse, not wanting to trek the three miles on foot just to pay respects and then go back home again. It was a six mile round trip, but Crowley didn't mind. As he listened to his shoes scrap at the dirt beneath them, he looked upwards towards the blackened sky. The full moon was at its peak, a lone beacon of light surrounded by tiny dots of starlight.

"Wonderful night for some grave digging," Crowley mumbled, fumbling for the flask at his belt. He takes it, unscrews the cap, and takes a gulp. The warm drink traveled down his throat, and he felt renewed energy coursing through him. The aches on the soles of his poor feet were already fading away. He sighed, letting the taste of iron linger in his breath and swiping away a hint of red at the corner of his mouth. He needed that, especially as he saw the iron gates of the cemetery and realized his journey was coming to an end. He was told to come as soon as he could, but that was about two hours ago. With any luck, they would have started without him.

Crowley turned and looked at the gates before him, marking the entrance to the burial grounds. They looked old, so covered in rust that the weight might cause it to collapse. It was a wonder anyone even used this place for burials. In the year Crowley has been in this area, he had never seen a proper funeral in this place. Many of the tombstones were cracked in several places, some of them even smashed to pieces, so that the bastard laying six feet under could more easily be forgotten.

As soon as Crowley had stepped inside the gate, a tired, annoyed voice called out to him. "You're late."

Crowley frowned and turned, facing his superior. "And a good evening to you too, Lord Hastur." He gave a lazy wave over to the figure digging by a grave. "Good evening, Ligur."

Ligur only paused to give Crowley a soul-piercing glare before continuing on his work. Piles of dirt flew behind him as he grumbled something rude under his breath.

"I heard that," said Crowley.

"Good," Ligur replied.

"There better be a good reason for being so delayed." Hastur said.

Crowley patted the flask at his belt. "Just wanted to grab a little treat for the road. There's some left for the new guy when he wakes up."

"No." Hastur sneered, disgusted by Crowley's idea. "I've set up traps around the forest here. Some fresh meat will do him good."

"Come on!" Crowley argued. "You know it doesn't have to be fresh, right? I mean, yeah, it's difficult getting blood into a flask without making a mess and dripping it all over the floor. But it's portable! I've gone a week with just one of these things!"

Hastur groaned as he listened. "Blood that has been sitting for a week, Crowley? How do you live with yourself?"

"It's more efficient than having to hunt another human every night, I'll tell you that. Maybe if you gave it a try, you would-"

There was the sound of metal crashing into metal, followed by a high pitched yip. In the trees to the west, birds scattered into the sky away from the source of the sound. The flutter of wings filled the air, and Hastur looked over with a grin. "Caught something."

"Good job. You know, they pay decent money for furs, you could be a trapper."

"And you," Hastur looked back to Crowley, "can go fetch our prize."

At this, Crowley frowned. He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it when he couldn't think of anything witty to say. Instead, he put his hands in his coat pockets and walked away from the two grave robbers towards the woods. "Be right back. Don't miss me too much."

"Don't worry, we won't."

* * *

"They just kill someone every day? How do they live with themselves?" Crowley grumbled as he navigated his way through the trees. "People get suspicious. They get wary once they realize someone's disappearing off the streets every day." He moved a low hanging branch coming towards his face out of the way. "That's when they start investigating. Picking suspects. And then 'off with his head'!"

He kicked a small rock absentmindedly, and it rolled along the leaves and dead grass before disappearing behind a bush. A whimper quietly filled the air. Crowley stopped and slowly turned his head towards the bush, where it came from. That's probably where the trapped animal was.

"Not even dead yet." Should he kill it? Or would Hastur prefer it be still alive? Either way, he should have a look at what-

He froze. As Crowley passed through the undergrowth, looking down at the bear trap, he could see a giant paw stuck in the device's jaws. The paw was probably as big as Crowley's hand, and blood trickled down to the ground from the creature's leg. Crowley's eyes traveled up the leg, past a chest of silver fur, and finally stopped at a pair of ice-blue eyes.

A large wolf was staring up at Crowley, whimpering as it bit at the trap with massive fangs. Its other legs were scrambling, trying to move itself away from the figure. Constantly, its gaze looked to Crowley, to the trap, and back to Crowley again. And Crowley could practically smell the fear this creature was radiating.

He sighed. He was told what to do if he came across a wolf. So reaching into inside his jacket, he carefully pulled out his weapon. "Sorry, mutt. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time." The silver blade of the dagger gleamed in the moonlight.

As soon as the wolf caught sight of the weapon, its whimpering increased in intensity. It was already in enough panic from the trap, but it seemed even more terrified as Crowley took a step forward. The wolf trembled, one of its back legs tripping on a stray root and causing it to fall back.

Crowley took another step forward. The monster's ears flattened, and it stared up at Crowley with eyes covered in fresh tears. He raised his weapon, and the wolf squeezed them shut, bracing itself.

"Come on."

Slowly, at the sound of the stranger's voice, its eyes opened. Its muscles trembled as Crowley stood over it, dagger raised in the air and prepared to strike.

"Don't give me that look. You're supposed to fight back, aren't you?" A look of pained frustration crossed his face. "I didn't think you were just going to surrender."

The wolf didn't dare move. It only looked up at Crowley, heart pounding in its chest.

He frowned. "At least growl or something! You're the first wolf I ever met, the least you could do is show your teeth!"

The man and the wolf looked at each other. They both carried looks of confusion. The wolf looked downward, seemingly in thought, then looked back up to Crowley. Very slowly, its upper lip raised in a half-hearted snarl.

That got a reaction out of Crowley, but it wasn't quite the reaction it was hoping for. A giggle slipped out as he covered his mouth with a hand. The wolf's lip went back down, and it tilted its head slightly.

"Yeah, very frightening." He said jokingly. "Bet you scare away all the squirrels here, don't you?"

There was a disapproving 'hmph' from the wolf, and that only made Crowley laugh harder.

"You're not making a good name for your kind right now, you know? So don't get sassy with me!"

The wolf quietly growled and tried to sit up. But it yelped as the trap's teeth dug further into its leg, forcing it to lay down again.

Crowley blinked and watched it struggle with the trap again. As he looked at the trap, a plan started to form as he observed the wolf try to grip the metal with its teeth. He looked to his knife, and slowly walked over to the animal. The whimpering started up again, and it was more frantic as the dagger came closer and closer.

"Sh, be quiet." Carefully, Crowley jammed the blade of the dagger in between the jaws of the bear trap. Twisting the knife, he managed to force the trap open just a crack. Crowley brought his hands to the outer edges, and with as much strength as he could muster, he opened the trap up. There was a click as the jaws clicked into place, fully opened and ready to catch something else not cautious enough.

As soon as it could, the injured leg was removed from the trap. The wolf limped a few steps away, but it watched Crowley reset the trap with some concern. Crowley noticed his observer and looked up at it. "Watch your step, alright? I won't be there to help if you get stuck again."

A terrified scream cut through the night air. The wolf's ears perked at the sound, and Crowley turned towards the cemetery with an uninterested glance. "New guy's awake." He mumbled.

There was the sound of grass being trampled on behind him, getting quieter as it moved further away. Crowley turned. The beast had run off, leaving behind a faint trail of blood behind it. Crowley smirked and began to walk back to the two grave robbers, already thinking of his excuse for coming back empty handed.

* * *

"Give me a cup of your cheapest."

The man behind the counter nodded, leaving Crowley to sulk on his stool. He readjusted his sunglasses and massaged his temples, his headache from last night still lingering. He always had a headache after spending time with Hastur and Ligur. And it didn't help that the newest member of the coven was a bumbling mess the moment he woke up. It turns out that just saying 'You're a vampire now, deal with it,' was not the most elegant way of introducing a fledgling to the world. At least Crowley's flask satisfied him. But it was practically sucked dry, and Crowley dreaded having to go hunting tonight. He'll just go after another drunkard. They were always the easiest to lure into a back alley.

A wooden mug slammed onto the counter, and Crowley mumbled a 'thank you' as he fished out his payment from his pocket.

"Oh! Allow me."

A new voice chimed in, placing a few coins into the bartender's hand. After a count, the man nodded to himself and walked off to help other customers. Crowley frowned and turned to the gentleman who had settled on the stool next to him.

It almost sickened Crowley how proper this man seemed to be. His movements were meticulous as he smoothed his vest down and checked his sleeves for possible wrinkles. The man smiled to himself to see that everything was in their place and smiled, his deep blue eyes hiding a sparkle in them as he looked to Crowley. 

"I couldn't help but notice how long it was taking you to pay. Believe me, I've forgotten my money at home too. I know what that's like." His smile was so gentle, it would have made crying babies instantly cease their wails. But all it did for Crowley was make him self-conscious about how he looked.

"I have money. I just carry so much junk that it takes me a second to dig it out." He took a sip of his beer and winced at the bitter taste. Though what did he expect? He did ask for the cheapest drink in the bar.

The man looked crestfallen for just a moment before nodding. "I see. Then consider this a random act of kindness." He tapped his knuckles on the counter, calling the bartender's attention. "I'll have what he's having," he said, gesturing to Crowley.

Great. He's going to have to be social. It was too early for this. As soon as the sun sets, he's making himself scarce.

"I don't believe I've seen you around here before. Visiting someone?" The man tilted his head as he asked.

"No." Crowley answered.

"Resting for a bit?"

"You could say that."

"Where are you going?"

Crowley paused. "I don't have a destination at the moment. Just making my way through the country, seeing the sights."

"Ah, a pilgrimage, then?"

At this, Crowley hid a smirk. "No. Far from it."

The man blinked and thought as his drink was set down in front of him. "Oh! You're from that troupe of actors passing through!"

"Nope."

"Oh. Hm." Out of questions to ask, the man took a sip of his drink and cringed. "Huh. Interesting choice of drink."

"It's just what I can afford." Crowley smiled and looked over his acquaintance's expression. "Helps to plug your nose."

"Really." He said, putting his drink down.

Looking him over, Crowley noticed how smooth this gentleman's skin seemed to be. And it was a healthy shade of pink, too. He looked to be in his 40's, but he looked bright and full of energy. Which was surprising, Crowley had always known people of this age to be more sluggish, just wanting to get their jobs done for the day so they can go home and sleep. Maybe that's what he was doing. Just grab a quick drink and get a little tipsy before retiring for the night. That's what a lot of the men in this pub were doing, anyway. Besides, when they're all in a group like this, it's much easier to pick out his next donor.

Actually, why give effort to find one? Crowley's got one right here. Right, time to turn on the charm.

"I suppose I should thank you for the drink, Mr..."

The man smiled as he introduced himself. "Aziraphale."

"Aziraphale?" Crowley repeated the name to himself. "Don't think I've met anyone named that before."

"Oh, yes." A slight blush appeared on Aziraphale's cheeks. "My family is a bit religious. I think they believe that if they gave their child an angelic sounding name, they would be blessed with good luck their entire life."

"Do you think that has been true?"

Aziraphale's expression faltered and he looked to his mug. "Given recent events, I'm not so sure."

"Hit a rough patch, then?" Crowley smiled. "Don't worry about it, everyone has bad luck every once in a while. Once it passes, your life can be back to normal and you can leave those bad times in the past."

"I appreciate the thought, er..."

"Crowley."

"Crowley." He nodded. "But I'm afraid my bad luck is not something I can just forget and move on. I have to live with it."

"Oh, I get it." Crowley smirked and leaned forward. "Got a lady friend knocked up, eh?"

At this, Aziraphale's smile returned in a chuckle. But it quickly passed, returning to its somber expression. "No! I would never do anything like that."

"It's a story I hear all the time, you wouldn't be the first one." Crowley pursed his lips and thought. "You on the run?"

"What?" Aziraphale was quite alarmed by this accusation. "No! I live as peacefully as I could, I would never dream of harming someone!"

"That's interesting you say that."

"Say what?"

"I only said 'on the run' in a general sense. I never mentioned harming anyone." Crowley raised an eyebrow and watched Aziraphale's hand tighten around his cup. "So who was it?"

Aziraphale's free hand shook and he quickly brought it down to his knee. "It's nothing for you to be concerned about."

"Come on, I'm just curious." Crowley pushed on. It was fun to see where his limits were, and breaking those limits were what made people so vulnerable. "People drink to forget, I get it. Your secret is safe with me."

"There's no secret." His grip on the cup tightened. A crack shot its way to the base.

"Everyone has their secrets, Aziraphale."

"And I'm not sharing mine with the likes of YOU!"

The cup shattered, scattering wood chips from Aziraphale's hand and falling to the counter. Suddenly, several eyes were on the two of them, looking to see what the sound was. A hush passed through the crowd, waiting for the next move. Crowley sighed. He hated being noticed. So he turned, pushing his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, and gave each and every one of the patrons a powerful glare. Instantly, everyone turned back to their tables, continuing what they were doing and allowing the hum of conversation to return to the pub. Crowley nodded to himself, satisfied with his work, and pushed his sunglasses back up as he turned back to the counter.

"Alright, fine. Will you just calm-"

He turned to look at Aziraphale. When he realized he had started talking to thin air, Crowley gazed at the remains of his cup. If it wasn't for that outburst, Crowley would have done his 'make you forget all your troubles' routine. He's gonna have to go find someone else to prey on. Looking up, he also realized the bartender was looking at the wood chips with a tired gaze.

"That's the third one this week," he mumbled.

* * *

Let's say you're a man in your mid-30's named Richard Morbidson. You're one of a handful of people in this town that know how to work a printing press, but you don't think it's that exciting. It's just putting words on a piece of parchment. But ever since this Shakespeare fellow showed up, people have been clamoring for copies of his scripts and his sonnets. The excitement has flown over your head, you don't get how some pretty words would drive people mad. And no, it's not because you tried to write a sonnet before and it turned out to be a piece of manure according to your girlfriend. You would never admit that.

And let's say after a long day of work, you head to the local pub and grab yourself a beer. You prefer to keep to yourself, being alone with your thoughts as you drink until your head swims in alcohol. That's what the other patrons are doing, you don't see why you can't do the same.

You're perfectly content until a man with flaming red hair approaches and sits down next to you. You open your mouth to say something along the lines of 'Bugger off, what does a guy have to do to get some space around here'. But as you turn to the man to complain, you stop. Behind this man's sunglasses were gorgeous eyes, shimmering a brilliant gold. You find yourself unable to look away. The man smirks, seeing the effect he's put on you.

"Would you happen to be interested in walking with me? It's getting dark out, and I've heard there are some unsavory types that lurk about at night."

You should say no. But you nod and say yes.

The man smiles. His pupils constrict. "Excellent."

So the two of you head out, even though you get the urge to run. But any attempt to get away is stopped by something. You're not sure what. All you can do is follow the man to a darkened alley. And as the light of the street lamps fade and darkness surrounds you, you stop. You suddenly feel very alone.

That is, until you're slammed against a wall, a hand tightened around your throat. You bring your hands up to it, but your attacker has an iron grip. No matter how hard you struggle, you can't even move his pinkie finger an inch.

"This'll be quick. I promise."

And the man flashes a sharp grin. You try to scream, but nothing comes out, as if your vocal cords have disappeared. The man inches close to your neck and opens his mouth. You feel a sharp pinch.

Darkness overcomes your vision, and a numbing feeling seeps in from your neck, down your body. Your arms fall to your side, feeling as heavy as bags of sand. Your legs struggle to hold up your weight.

Then the numbing feeling reaches your head. And slowly, ever so slowly, your thoughts slow down to a crawl.

And you would never know that was just another day in this stranger's life as he drinks until he is satisfied. As the rest of the blood drips from your wound, he brings a flask up and lets it drip inside, filling it up to the brim.

And then, there's nothing left of you. Death has taken you in his arms.

 _DON'T BE ASHAMED_ , he says. _YOU'RE NOT THE FIRST ONE, AND YOU WON'T BE THE LAST._

* * *

Crowley never understood why humans believed vampires disintegrated in sunlight. Sure, he hated the sun, it dampened his abilities significantly until it set over the horizon. But staying locked up in your room was no way to live your un-life. If he didn't get outside and get fresh air, he would be driven insane. Besides, it was entertaining to see the people go about their day. If there was one thing Crowley liked about immortality, it was seeing how mortals kept themselves busy throughout the years.

"Sir, there is really no need."

"Please, I insist."

Crowley stopped as he listened in on a conversation. He recognized the first voice as the bartender who owned the pub nearby. The second voice was him. The man named after an angel.

"You didn't have to do this for me." The bartender said, shaking his head disapprovingly.

Aziraphale stood in front of him, holding a wooden mug and holding it out to him. "But I must apologize for my behavior last night somehow. I had no good reason to break one of your cups, I only wish to replace it."

The bartender sighed. "People get drunk all the time. And when they get drunk, they tend to break things. I'll survive with one less cup."

"But you shouldn't have to!"

Crowley raised an eyebrow and walked to the two. "Give it up, angel," he said, "if he doesn't want it, don't force it on him."

Frowning, Aziraphale turned to the new participant in the conversation. His eyes widened, recognizing Crowley, but he quickly turned back to the bartender. "Are you absolutely sure?" He asked, reaching the cup out to him one more time.

The bartender looked to the cup, to Aziraphale, to Crowley, and back to the cup. He sighed again, taking the cup from Aziraphale. "Fine."

As the cup left his grasp, Aziraphale smiled. "Excellent! It makes me feel so much better knowing that-"

"Yeah, don't worry about it. Thanks for your patronage." The bartender mumbled as he turned and headed back inside the pub.

As soon as the man was gone, Aziraphale turned to Crowley, frowning. "'Angel'?"

"You were named after one. Does it offend you when I call you that?"

"Isn't that for-" He shook his head, throwing away whatever he was going to say. "Never mind. What do you want?"

"Just wanted to say hi." Crowley put a hand on his chest, doing his best to look offended. "If it's about what I said yesterday, I'm sorry. I didn't realize I hit a nerve."

"You do realize asking someone you've just met whether or not they've committed any crimes is extremely invasive."

"I don't know. I think jumping in and paying for a stranger's drink is invasive too."

At this, a slight blush crossed Aziraphale's cheeks. With an uncomfortable look, he said, "I just felt generous. Don't think I'll just tell you my life story over a drink."

Crowley looked down to Aziraphale's arms and noticed how he massaged his left wrist when he spoke. Seeing this, Crowley quickly put the pieces together.

Right. There's no such thing as random acts of kindness. Every action had a purpose behind it, even if Aziraphale didn't quite know it.

"Something wrong with your arm?" Crowley asked.

"What?" The hand on Aziraphale's wrist was promptly removed.

"You keep rubbing it. Why?"

Aziraphale frowned and stumbled through his response. "I...tripped and fell on it."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

"Okay."

"I have to go. I'm running late."

"For what?"

"None of your business!"

And before Crowley could answer, Aziraphale had walked away hurriedly, mumbling something to himself. Human ears couldn't hear it, but Crowley's ears heard it just fine.

"Two hours left. Two hours."

Crowley smirked and made his leave, watching the sun slowly begin its descent.

"You're welcome." He murmured.


	2. 1610

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, as soon as I finish writing this chapter, I look up when Galileo did his experiment at the Tower of Pisa and it turns out it was closer to 1589-92. Sorry for being off by about twenty years!
> 
> Also, warning for a gruesome animal death in this chapter.

One vampire happened to be severely allergic to garlic, and all of a sudden, humans assume that was something that repelled vampires. The Italians were probably elated by this 'discovery'. They put garlic in their bread for crying out loud, how can vampires come even close to Italy's borders? But here was Crowley, with not a sign of discomfort to be seen.

Well, until he saw this fellow carrying two metal spheres enter the Leaning Tower of Pisa. One could only wonder what he was going to do with them. And judging by the crowd that had formed when the man reached the top, they were also curious about what was going to happen. There had to be someone who had an idea on what was going on. So Crowley tapped the shoulder of a random individual.

"Excuse me."

The man turned, and Crowley is met with a pair of blue eyes he hadn't seen in five years. He grinned.

"Aziraphale! Fancy seeing you here!"

Aziraphale took a step back with a look of surprise. Whether it was a good or bad kind of surprise, Crowley couldn't figure out. "Crowley? Why are you in Italy?"

"I could ask you the same thing." He raised an eyebrow. "Doing some wandering, are we?"

Aziraphale's expression faltered. "Well, if you must know, I hear the wine here is some of the best in the world. I wanted to sample some and see if that's true."

"And?"

Finally, a smile found Aziraphale's face. "I am happy to say that the wine here is absolutely delectable."

"Hm." Crowley hummed and nodded. The crowd stirred as the man at the top of the tower held up the two cannonballs in front of him. "What's going on up there?"

"Oh, that." Aziraphale cleared his throat. "You see the two metal balls he's holding? One of them is heavier than the other, and he's going to drop both of them."

"Why?"

"From what I heard, he's doing an experiment on whether an object's weight affects the speed in which it falls."

"But one ball is heavier than the other. Didn't Aristotle say that the speed something falls is connected to how heavy it is?"

"That's what I thought too. But he," he looked to the man preparing his experiment, "thinks otherwise."

A silence hushed over the crowd as the scientist dropped the two balls from his hands. Everyone watched as the spheres fell to the ground and landed at relatively the same time into the gravel. From the top, there was a yell from the man as he pumped a fist into the air. "I knew it!"

"Huh." Crowley said.

"It would seem Aristotle was not correct in his theory." Aziraphale replied.

"Who can believe a man who's been dead for a thousand years would be wrong about something."

"But with that event done and over with, I must say." Aziraphale turned to Crowley. "I'm rather surprised you remember me. We've only met twice, and that was five years ago."

"It's hard to forget about someone who tried to replace a cup for a pub that saw at least ten broken things a month. If I had to guess, your gift has probably been shattered on top of someone's head by now."

"I believe in fixing problems rather than leave them be."

"If that's what helps you sleep at night." Speaking of night. "How's your wrist? Fully recovered, I hope."

"Oh." Aziraphale's eyes widened as the memory returned to him. "Yes, it's completely healed now. Thank you. I'm impressed you remembered such a small detail."

"People tell me I've got an excellent memory."

"No wonder." A smile flashed on Aziraphale's face. "I know this is rather delayed, but I do apologize for my abrupt departure when we last saw each other."

"Oh, come off it." Crowley frowned. "Are you still hung up on one tiny conversation?"

"But I-"

"You looked stressed. I wasn't going to stop you if you were late for something." Crowley raised an eyebrow as a smirk ran across his lips. "Did you make it to your...engagement on time?"

"Er." Aziraphale stammered, looking down to the ground before looking back to Crowley. "Yes. I made it on time."

"Good. And you looked out for traps, yeah?"

"Of course I-" Aziraphale froze as every drop of blood in his body rose into his cheeks. "I mean. I. Don't know what you're talking about."

"Mmhm." A laugh rose up his throat, but he swallowed it down. "Well, seeing as you're still alive and well, you must have been careful. There are traps around every corner if you aren't careful. Like thieves and murderers and such."

"Oh! Yes, yes, you are absolutely right! The streets at night can be quite dangerous!"

"That's what I'm saying, angel."

At this, Aziraphale winced. "Do you intend to keep calling me that?"

"If it gets a reaction like that out of you, then yes."

Aziraphale sighed and then looked up to the sky. His eyes scanned the horizon, deep in thought, then turned back to Crowley. "I should get going. I've-"

"Got another engagement?" Crowley asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes. I wish you a good day, Crowley." He gave a slight bow and turned, walking away in a hurry.

Crowley sniffed as he watched Aziraphale get further and further away until he reached the inn and walked inside. "Still doesn't get it, does he," he mumbled. "Didn't realize wolves would be so dense."

* * *

It was traumatic at first, but then again, how could it not be? Of course it hurt at first. How could bones cracking into place as your skeleton completely reformed not be anything but painful? But you would be surprised how therapeutic it turned out to be when you give it a chance, like nature sending you the best chiropractor in the world. Sure, it ripped up your suit if you let it sneak up on you, but Aziraphale was always aware of time. During his years of turning under the full moon, he followed a schedule to the letter, always hiding himself as he transitioned and then sneaking away to the veil the forest provided him to do his hunting. He was always careful never to let anyone else see him and, besides one ugly night the first time he turned, he was proud of his clean reputation. As far as he knew, no one knew about this secret of his, and he would prefer to keep it that way, thank you very much.

The light of the full moon beamed down strongly tonight, with no cloud in sight to block its brilliance. The wolf weaved through the army of trees as he sniffed the air, each step accented with a soft crunch of leaves. A deer went through here, and judging by how fresh the aroma was, it was nearby somewhere. He salivated as he followed the trail, keeping quiet as best as he could. Soon, the trail had lead him to the sound of a babbling brook. The smell was strongest around here and Aziraphale hid behind a nearby bush and looked over to where the source was.

The animal drinking from the stream must have been the envy of stags everywhere. It stood tall with a refined air, the antlers rising towards the sky like a beacon of bone. It must have won many duels and wooed many doe over wherever it went. Unfortunately, Aziraphale didn't care about that right now. Right now, all he knew was that the stag was looking awfully tasty. But with those large antlers, any attempt at a frontal assault would end up with a skewered wolf. The only option was a sneak attack from behind. With his plan set, the silver wolf lined up his shot. Carefully, he took a step forward. The stag doesn't move, and he risked another step. Again, there is no reaction. He winded up his back legs like a spring.

And released.

In the three seconds it took the stag to turn its head, Aziraphale had already pounced and sunken his teeth into its neck. In its last moments of life, the animal's throat had been ripped out, and all it could do was accept its fate as it fell to ground, twitching and laying in a puddle of blood that was growing by the second. At its heart beat its final thumps, the monster was ripping off its fur, chewing on muscles, and lapping up its flowing blood like water.

But Aziraphale didn't think of this. All he thought was how the meat tasted just fine. Maybe not as good as rabbit or chicken, but it was still quite good. He almost didn't mind how much blood was getting into his fur. Even if he did, at least he had a source of water nearby to-

A pair of hands clapped together in applause. Aziraphale froze, one ear rotating to the source across the brook. Slowly, as blood dripped from his jaws, he looked up.

"Very nice work," said Crowley, smiling as he clapped. "Didn't know what hit 'em. You've obviously done this before, haven't you? It shows, it really does."

Questions racked Aziraphale's brain. What in God's name was he doing out here in the middle of the night? Sure, he talks about how dangerous it can get, but here he was.

"Damn. Lot of blood in that thing. You gonna eat all that by yourself? Or are you gonna leave it out for someone else to nip at? Might get bad pretty quick, though. Maggots and flies and all that, you know."

And he had that same smell on him. Unnatural. Not one Aziraphale could easily place. It smelled human, yes. But at the same time, something was off, like a painting hanging on a wall that was slightly tilted.

"You can understand me, right? Or do I have to bark at you?"

Maybe he's had a little too much to drink. That's it. And now he's talking to random animals he found in the woods, thinking they'll talk back. It wasn't the first time Aziraphale ran into someone who tried to start conversation with him. But a well-executed snarl was enough to get them out of his sight. He really should do that, shouldn't he? Then this whole situation would-

"Aziraphale."

Instinctively, the wolf's ears perked. Did he just. No. He didn't.

Crowley's smile grew. "So you can understand me, then."

How did he know? He was so careful! There was no way Crowley would ever figure it out! Unless. No. The wrist. Did he figure it out that easily with one little piece of evidence!?

"You're so suspicious, you know that? Always running off before the sun goes down, having the same injury in both your forms. Your secret was so obvious, anyone with a passing knowledge of supernatural beings would have figured it out."

Obvious!? It couldn't be! He needed to-

No. He can't. Crowley saved him, it wouldn't be fair to take his life right now. But if he didn't, what are the chances Crowley wouldn't tell someone? The thought of an angry mob shouting for Aziraphale's head sent a shudder through his whole body.

Aziraphale's shock must have been obvious, because Crowley's face softened just then. "Your secret's safe with me, angel. But I do have one request, to make sure this isn't some fluke and I haven't been talking to some random wolf in the middle of the woods."

A request? Aziraphale tilted his head as he listened.

"Meet me in front of the winery tomorrow at three o'clock sharp. You know, the one at the outskirts of town. I'd like to do a little tasting, see if the wine is as good as you say it is."

The wolf blinked. That's it? It was so simple. If Crowley wanted to taste some wine, he could go by himself. He didn't need to invite someone else along to do that.

"You got that? Blink once for yes, twice for no."

This was ridiculous. If he wanted Aziraphale along, he could have asked in the day. Aziraphale had gone through all this stress, and now his reputation was riding on a trip to the winery.

Unless that was the trap. If Aziraphale went to the winery, then Crowley's suspicions would be confirmed. But then if he didn't go, would Crowley say anything about his true identity? Aziraphale had to admit that he wasn't acting as ignorant as he should have. He responded to his own name, for Heaven's sake! No matter whether he accepted or denied the invitation, the outcome wouldn't be in his favor. Who the hell was this man?!

"I guess it doesn't matter. We'll just see tomorrow." Crowley fumbled at his belt for a flask and took a sip of his drink. "Happy hunting!" He waved and turned, walking away from the stressed wolf currently weighing his options.

Aziraphale paused as a new scent joined the others. It was blood, no doubt about it. But it smelled human. Where did that come from? Looking down at the deer's stone cold corpse, he shook his head. No, he must be hallucinating. A lot just happened in a few minutes, he could just be overwhelmed by his dilemma. The only thing bleeding here was the stag, and that was it. At least, that's what he hoped. Mentally, he wished Crowley a safe trip back to town, even through his little breakdown.

* * *

The sun shone brightly on the vineyard, with not a cloud in the sky to provide shelter. The scent of grapes hung in the air like mist, with a light breeze to assist in spreading it around. Lingering under the sunbeams were small groups of people scattered about, already tasting the best the winery had to offer and chatting among themselves.

But it wasn't the heat of the sun causing Aziraphale to sweat. It was knowing that somewhere in the crowd, Crowley was waiting for him. If he found him, then their encounter last night wouldn't have been some sort of dream. It would have been reality, and Aziraphale wasn't sure if he was ready to say 'Oh yes, I turn into a wolf every full moon, have you tried this white yet, it's absolutely delightful'. He should leave. But he was invited, it would be rude to not show up. Perhaps he would just say hi and sneak away. Just do his best to avoid conversation.

"Aziraphale!"

"Ah!" Aziraphale yipped and turned to see Crowley, eyes widened in surprise. In his hands were two glasses, both of them holding red wine.

"Startled you, didn't I?" Crowley smiled as he reached a glass over to Aziraphale.

"Er. Um. Yes." With a shaking hand, Aziraphale took it and examined the drink. The smell of alcohol radiated from the glass, almost calming his rushing mind. Almost.

"I had some samples while I waited for you and I must say," Crowley raised his eyebrows, "They have been enjoyable so far."

Aziraphale only nodded before taking a sip of wine. He let it sit on his tongue before swallowing, satisfied with the flavor.

"You're so tense. What's the matter?"

"What." Aziraphale frowned and turned to Crowley. "What's the matter? You know exactly what the matter is!"

"Do I?" With a flash of mischief in his eyes, Crowley took a sip of wine.

"Yes! Don't act ignorant! I only wanted to say thank you for what you've done for me with a drink! That's it!"

"You mean five years ago?" Crowley asked, still playing the fool.

"Yes! And believe me, I probably wouldn't be standing here today if it weren't for you! But this doesn't mean you had to approach me last night and ask for a bloody wine tasting! Do you know how stressful it is to have a human talk to you when you're-"

"Let up on the glass. It hasn't done anything to you."

Aziraphale blinked and looked to his glass. Already, a crack had spiked its way through the bowl. With a blush, he took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them up again with a glare. His grip on the glass loosened as he continued, speaking softly and quietly. "I only assumed that once you had figured out my secret, you would stay clear away from me. You said so before that anyone with a passing knowledge of the supernatural could figure out what I was."

"Upset that I'm not letting you be a lone wolf?"

An eyebrow twitched, but Aziraphale let the comment pass by. "Then you would be aware how dangerous I could be. I would not want to risk something happening to you."

"You would be surprised how much I've gone through in my life. I think a giant dog would be a walk in the park compared to other dangers I faced."

"Do you know that for sure?"

"You let me save you, didn't you?" Aziraphale didn't answer, giving Crowley the signal he could continue. "I think if you really wanted to hurt me, you would have done so as soon as I let you out of the trap. But you didn't."

"I also didn't think I was ever going to see you again until I saw you in that pub." He sighed. "I just wanted to thank you in a way that wasn't obvious. I figured a drink would be a small enough token of thanks. Then we would go our separate ways and forget the whole thing ever happened."

Crowley twirled his glass, watching his wine swirl around. "Kind of hard to forget seeing a big wolf in the middle of the woods."

Actually, as he thought about that night, Aziraphale couldn't help but wonder about many things. Namely the dagger that Crowley had brought out. It was obviously silver. Just a scratch was enough to leave a scar for the rest of a werewolf's days. If Crowley didn't back down, Aziraphale would be dead or, at the least, extremely crippled. But he didn't. Since then, while he had been grateful Crowley had changed his mind, Aziraphale couldn't help but wonder why he would have a change of heart. "May I ask you something?"

Crowley readjusted his sunglasses and raised his eyebrows. "I'm listening."

"When you first saw me, you drew your weapon. But you didn't hurt me. Why?"

At this, Crowley gulped down the rest of his wine as he thought. "You couldn't fight back. It would have felt empty if I just ended your life right there." As Crowley gave his answer, Aziraphale could have sworn he saw something behind his sunglasses just then. It seemed like a shimmer of something in his eyes, but it was so difficult to tell.

He couldn't help it. He had to ask, even if the topic might be uncomfortable. "But if we were to meet on equal ground, what would you have done then?"

And Crowley paused again, looking to his empty glass with intensity. "I've asked myself the same thing. And to be honest, I'm not sure." His expression faltered for just a moment, but quickly returned to a more playful expression as he looked back up to Aziraphale. "But it's in the past. No use thinking about 'what if's."

Perhaps he had a point, Aziraphale thought. It didn't matter what Crowley would have done then if Aziraphale wasn't injured. What mattered was that that didn't happen.

In the distance, a clock chimed four times. Crowley clicked his tongue, frowning. "Looks like it's my turn to run."

"What?" He was ashamed to admit it, but Aziraphale was disappointed to hear this.

"Meeting some colleagues of mine tonight. Gonna be boring as all hell, but I have to be there."

"Duty calls?" Aziraphale guessed.

"Yeah. Duty calls." Crowley sighed and rubbed at his temples, holding his empty glass to Aziraphale. "Would you mind if I gave this to you?"

Aziraphale looked to the glass, then to Crowley. Gently, he took the glass from him. "I'll take care of it for you."

"Thanks." Crowley turned, walking towards the garden's exit and waving a lazy hand towards Aziraphale's general direction. "Have a nice life."

Should he wave back? He wouldn't be able to see if he did. But Aziraphale raised a hand and gave a short wave back anyway. "Yes, you too!" Though his outburst drew some gazes, they quickly turned back to their conversations.

When Crowley disappeared from view, Aziraphale found himself letting out a sigh. Perhaps he was too sharp with him. They may not be on equal footing, but it was nice thinking of Crowley as an acquaintance. For a bit, it was nice talking to someone who wasn't like Aziraphale. No talk of hunts, nothing about potential 'volunteers' for the pack. Just some wine and some conversation with the man who could have killed him five years ago, but chose not to. 

He really shouldn't think this at all. But for a brief moment, Aziraphale hoped he would see Crowley again soon. Of course, the chances of that happening were very slim. The world was a big place, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Aziraphale figures out Crowley's secret next chapter. He's just drinking his dumbass juice right now.

**Author's Note:**

> OK SO  
> This is just an idea I've been playing around with that suddenly grew out of control and now I have to put this out there because if I don't, I will go CRAZY. Yeah, it's a slow burn, but the original has them pining for 6000 years. I think this will be a blink of an eye compared to that


End file.
